


The Christmas Trade

by irislim



Category: Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms, Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:21:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27669478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irislim/pseuds/irislim
Summary: It's a simple trade. She gets her mother off her back for the holidays. He gets to show the board that he's ready to settle down. It's the perfect plan to shut everyone up, until they end up shutting themselves up instead. A modern Christmas AU.
Relationships: Elizabeth Bennet/Fitzwilliam Darcy, Lizzie Bennet/William Darcy
Comments: 243
Kudos: 516





	1. The Problem

"I don't know how I'm going to survive this Christmas." Lizzie hunches over the lunch room table, head between her hands. "Jane's been a wife and mother for forever, but _Lydia_ \- now Lydia the baby is engaged - and my mom will nag my ear off for sure."

Charlotte, friend and colleague and confidante, smiles indulgently at Lizzie across the grey surface. "But she's always been like this, hasn't she?"

"Obsessed with marrying off her daughters? Yes, definitely." Lizzie sighs. "But now she has _real_ ammunition."

Charlotte laughs.

Coming from anybody else, that laugh would be considered insensitive and mocking. From Charlotte, it's just friendly.

It hasn't been easy for a girl with no family background or connections to establish herself so decidedly in the cyber-security world. She's rubbed a few people the wrong way on her rise to the top of her department, and some friendships have been impossibly ruined before they could even fully form.

And that's why Charlotte - married, steady, and in competition with no one thanks to the nature of her job - has been Lizzie's office bestie since time immemorial. There's really no one else she can trust around Pemberley Corp.

"Marriage isn't the only accomplishment one can have," Charlotte packs up her Japanese-style lunchbox as she talks, "you're a strong and independent woman with your own very significant career achievements. That should count for something during family reunions, shouldn't it?"

"It should, but it doesn't - no in our house." Lizzie blows some air upwards to toy with her bangs. "I pack with me the most star-studded resumé and all my mom can see is the blazing neon sign above my head that says '29 and still single.'"

"Lizzie."

"What?"

"You're exaggerating."

"Am I though? Have you ever met my mom?"

Charlotte chuckles. "Alright, fine. She really is like that."

Lizzie nods dramatically, eyes wide.

"It's just Christmas though, isn't it? The presents should help cheer you up." Charlotte zips up the floral container for her lunch box, never one to underestimate the power of life's little joys. "You've always liked your father's presents."

"Christmas is tolerable. I do like seeing Jane and Lydia get their presents. But New Year's the kicker. It's all champagne and extended family and people trying to figure out what the heck is wrong with you - to be single into one's old age."

"I married at thirty. You're not that old."

"Jane married at twenty-one."

"And there's your culprit."

Lizzie throws her head back and groans.

Charlotte's smiles is matronly, even if she's just a couple years older. She stands up, floral lunch bag in hand. "It's still a month until Christmas, dear. Maybe you'll meet someone."

"Because the graveyard shift at a nerd-centered work place is such a _perfect place_ to meet prince charming."

Charlotte's laugh returns. "To be fair, there is a very high ratio of single men to single ladies around here."

"That's some comfort, I guess."

"And I guess I should thank you for keeping me company then - instead of focusing on your romantic conquests."

Lizzie quirks a brow. Charlotte laughs. Charlotte's always laughing. It's one of the reasons it's so nice to be her friend.

"Thanks for listening to me rant." Lizzie sighs, grasping at the last few minutes of her lunch break. One of the perks about getting the day shift is having actual, real, human company for her breaks. But she needs to put in the hours if she wants to visit the other side of the country for Christmas and New Year - so her work days have been strenuously long recently. "I'll put on my big girl pants and get over it."

"That's my girl."

"And I will pray, with every fiber of my being, that God drops the perfect boyfriend in my lap within the next four weeks. Preferably tall, dark, and handsome - but I'll take two out of three, if necessary."

Charlotte's shaking head and indulgent laugh echo all the way down the hall.

* * *

"Ms. Collins, my office, ASAP!" The acting director thunders as he storms into his glass corner office.

Charlotte takes a steeling breath, adjusts her clothes, and stands up to enter the lion's den like the perfect executive assistant that she is.

"Yes, Mr. Darcy?" She stands primly on her heels. Her boss is young, magnetic, and commanding - with a loose canon of a temper. There's a reason his assistant is one of the highest-payed jobs in the whole company. And there's also a reason she's the only person who's managed to keep this post for more than two years.

"Are the contracts done?"

"Since yesterday. On your top right drawer, sir."

"And the card for Aunt Catherine."

"Signed, sealed, delivered."

"The guest list for the New Year Charity Ball - "

"Compiled completely. The e-mails went out this morning. The physical invitations go in the mail this afternoon. We should have all the RSVP responses in a week before Christmas."

Gradually, her boss's heaving slows.

He nods, his head of cropped brown curls a total mess above his expensive suit. She does his dry cleaning. She knows how much to sue for if any stain gets on any corner of those beauties.

"Thank you, Ms. Collins."

"My pleasure, Mr. Darcy."

Her usually stoic boss closes his eyes - and collapses onto his magnificent leather swivel chair with a long, dark sigh.

Charlotte waits. One of the greatest gifts in dealing with people is knowing exactly how long to wait.

Two minutes later, she asks, "How was your board meeting, sir?"

William Darcy groans, burrying his face in his hands.

"It seems as if it did not go well, sir."

"Yes and no." Darcy leans back before smirking grimly. "They are pleased with everything going on with Pemberley Corp. But they believe me unready to be the _actual_ company director."

Charlotte angles her head slightly. "There is no one more qualified than you, Mr. Darcy."

"I may believe so - but they do not." Her boss props a hand under his chin. His diamond cufflink glints.

"You have been striving for many years to prove that you can handle the company in your own right - apart from your father's legacy." Sometimes, an executive assistant is a therapist too. "You have proved yourself well, sir."

"Thank you, Ms. Collins. But I'm afraid your opinion does not quite affect theirs."

"What do they wish, sir?"

Her boss pauses, as if considering to reveal company secrets or not.

Then he shakes his head. "I need some coffee. Get on it pronto."

"Yes, Mr. Darcy." Charlotte turns dutifully towards the exit - the lone clear pane in a wall of semi-frosted glass. She gets to the door.

"Ms. Collins."

"Yes, sir?" She turns to face him.

"Does marriage truly change a person completely?"

"I fail to understand you."

Darcy leans back, looking helpless for the first time in a long time.

"The board believes that a young professional - however qualified - should be considered too volatile and unstable until he is married. And a single man is therefore unreliable as a leader of a company."

"I see."

The existential crisis that currently besets him is left implied.

"Are they correct, Ms. Collins?"

Charlotte, who seldom ever puts a single foot wrong, answers, "I suppose it depends on how you see it, Mr. Darcy."

"Am I supposed to find a random woman to put on my arm just to prove that I am somehow more _stable_ and _reliable_ as I would be without her?"

"There are worst problems to have, sir."

And his dark mood returns - for the rest of the long, tiring day.

* * *

_A/N: For some reason, I love writing modern Charlotte a lot more than Regency Charlotte, and this story is no exception. Thus begins my JAFF take on every Christmas rom-com cliché. Netflix and Hallmark better watch their backs. Haha, just kidding :)_


	2. The Set-Up

"The food isn't _that_ bad, is it?" Lizzie leans over the lunch table. "I've been practicing the recipe for Christmas."

Charlotte looks up abruptly. Her eyes, and all the dark circles around it, glance down at the roast chicken before looking back at Lizzie.

"It's nice." Her smile is wane. "Thanks, Lizzie."

"Mm hm." Lizzie sits back a bit. There's something off. There has been for a while.

She waits until Charlotte swallows another bite.

"Is everything alright at home?"

Charlotte's smile is a little more gentle this time. "Yeah. Bill mostly keeps to himself. He knows my job takes a toll on me."

"So it's something at work then."

Charlotte shrugs. Her olive green sweater follows the form of her shoulders. "It's nothing."

"It's something," Lizzie presses. She slides her coffee mug a little to the side to lean closer over the gray surface. "You've been there a lot for me. Let it be my turn. What's up?"

Charlotte sighs subtly, though visibly. "Mr. Darcy hasn't been in the best moods recently."

"Did he hurt you?" Lizzie frowns instantly.

"No, no - nothing like that. He is very professional, if a little unnecessarily harsh recently. He's just - very stressed, I guess."

"Over what? He practically owns and runs the company."

"You know he has a board over him, right?"

"And the board can control him - how?"

Charlotte chuckles. Lizzie doesn't get it.

"What?"

"You won't believe it if I tell you."

"What's up with the board? Aren't they just a big bunch of old white men who come to meetings and drink coffee while complaining about all the drugs they have to take?"

"Lizzie, that's unfair."

Lizzie shrugs.

Charlotte laughs again. The laughter doesn't fully wipe away the tiredness in her eyes, but it lightens her face a little.

"The board decided last month, during their elections, that our dear acting director isn't quite ready to be the _proper_ director because he hasn't settled down."

"Settled down? As in - buy a house, get a girl, have 2.5 kids?"

"Exactly."

"Huh."

"I know."

"It's straight out of a movie - first world problems and all."

"Tell me about it."

For a second, the ladies both just smile.

"And how does this contribute to his taking things out on the best executive assistant in the world then?" Lizzie poses a very honest question.

"He seems to have taken the challenge to heart - and has been trying to find a suitable lady in the past two weeks."

"And?"

"And shall we say the dating pool is just as small up at the top as it is for the rest of us earthlings?"

"Really?"

"A bimbo a day, a gold digger a week - he's worn out his phone battery faster than usual just yelling at his friends for their horrible attempts at setting him up."

Now that - Lizzie can't help laughing over.

"Lizzie, don't be mean." Charlotte has that motherly tone again.

"It's funny, alright? A big shot corporate leader - practically one of the most eligible people in the city - can't find a decent girlfriend. It's ironic."

"And you live for irony."

"Exactly." Lizzie grins.

Charlotte shakes her head indulgently. "You of all people should understand him."

"What do you mean?"

"Desperately needs a date for the holidays to get certain people off your back?"

"Oh, that." It's Lizzie's turn to shrug. She picks at the handle of her coffee mug. "Yeah, tell me about it."

"If only there were a mutually beneficial solution, you know?"

"Hm?"

"Nothing." But Charlotte's eyes sparkle.

Lizzie heaves a long, drawn-out sigh. "If only there were a decent rent-a-boyfriend or rent-a-girlfriend service, you know?"

"You mean like an escort - "

"Not like that!"

Charlotte laughs.

Lizzie shakes her head while she sighs. "You're incorrigible."

"That I am."

"Too bad you're married - or _you_ can charade as Mr. Darcy's girlfriend for the month."

"I should, shouldn't I?" Charlotte shakes her head, smiling. "Who wouldn't want to stand next to a powerful executive to play the part of an adoring girlfriend?"

"I can practically hear it: Mr. Darcy, you look _so very_ handsome."

"Mr. Darcy, you are the best boyfriend in the world."

"Mr. Darcy, how much is your annual income? I think it's _very important_ to our relationship."

They laugh like teenaged girls, maximizing the little moment of levity the lunch break brings. They make up more examples - increasingly ridiculous variations on what a whimpering woman on Mr. Darcy's arm just may say.

They keep at it - until someone peeks into the lunch room.

Someone who _really_ shouldn't be around peeks into the lunch room.

"Ms. Collins, here you are." The acting director of Pemberley Corp is suddenly behind his assistant, his towering frame filling up all the empty space in the room. "Whom do I have to meet this afternoon? And I believe I heard my name called?"

And Lizzie wants to _die_.

* * *

"Mr. Darcy." Ms. Collins turns to smile up at him, her body slightly contorted in the sparse break room. He likes his assistant. She is competent and straightforward. The world needs more people who are competent and straightforward. "Marcus from Henderson and Pratt will be here at two o'clock. Do you need your lunch warmed, sir?"

"I've already eaten," Darcy replies.

"I'm glad, sir." Ms. Collins nods.

Darcy nods a little. He knows he came in here for a reason. The lunch room isn't his scene.

He just can't quite place what the reason was now that he is here.

"Is there anything else we can help you with, Mr. Darcy?" Ms. Collins asks. Ms. Collin is helpful - competent, straightforward, and helpful. He likes her. And her married state is incredibly desirable, because Darcy simply cannot take another variation of a cooing fangirl handling his everyday affairs.

Darcy leans his head to the side. He thinks.

He takes in the simple lunch room - with the window and the counter and the sink and the fridge. There are four white chairs. Two of those white chairs are currently lined up against the sole gray table - one occupied by his assistant, the other by that girl from IT.

"What's your name again?" The question leaves his lips with a mind of his own.

"Who? Me?" The brunette bites her lower lip. She looks alarmed. Darcy can't quite understand why she looks alarmed.

As far as he knows, she is competent, straightforward, and helpful. Her department head has mentioned her several times - the girl who keeps outworking and outsmarting all the boys.

"I'm Lizzie - sir," she blurts.

"Lizzie," he repeats. He frowns, because he's thinking. "Lizzie - Bennet, right?"

 _Now,_ she looks positively frightened.

"Yes - sir."

"Lizzie is my friend, Mr. Darcy," Ms. Collins suddenly speaks again. At least she is smiling. "She works in IT and is on her lunch break. Is there anything you need from her?"

"From Miss Bennet?"

"Yes, sir."

Darcy pauses. "I don't believe so."

He can hear the IT girl sighing in relief.

What _has_ he ever done to scare her?

It feels strange to him that he earns such a reaction from an upstanding employee. The people he deals with - day in and day out - are so often either overt flatterers or envious, petty fools. This girl is different.

Lizzie Bennet is different.

"Shall I prepare anything for your meeting, Mr. Darcy?" Ms. Collins is talking again. "I believe it is only supposed to be exploratory in nature?"

Darcy is forced to think about his meeting, when all he is thinking about is her - the IT girl, Lizzie Bennet.

Darcy shakes his head. "That would not be necessary. Thank you, Ms. Collins."

Ms. Collins nods.

But now she is frowning.

Why is Ms. Collins frowning?

"I believe I heard my name mentioned?" Darcy recalls now. He addresses Ms. Collins - but he looks at her as well as her friend with the blanched face. "Is there anything that's the matter?"

Ms. Collins chuckles, but her laugh feels stilted. It feels slightly stilted, but Darcy isn't sure.

"Yes, Ms. Collins?"

His assistant hesitates, which is entirely unlike her. He's not sure why exactly these two excellent ladies are on edge. Is something wrong? Did someone die?

"I believe I've found a solution for your problem, Mr. Darcy," says Ms. Collins.

"My problem."

"Yes - with the board."

Darcy nods vaguely. He has been frustrated with the board, but he is uncertain what exactly Ms. Collins is talking about.

"You see Lizzie here." Ms. Collins gestures at her friend - her pretty IT friend with the shiny brown hair. "Has the perfect skill set to masquerade as the girlfriend you need."

"Charlotte!" Lizzie Bennet hisses.

Darcy looks at her, a little lost.

"She is need of a date for the holidays - a credible one - to show her family that it is not a foolish decision for a woman to pursue a career in technology," Ms. Collins continues. "You, sir, need a level-headed girl to show the board that you are capable of settling down."

Darcy nods slowly. He is beginning to understand.

"Why shouldn't the two of you help each other?" Ms. Collins concludes, her brows raised and lips smiling.

"As - a date?" Darcy clarifies.

"One date, two dates - as many as you need to sell your relationship."

Darcy looks down. His mind reviews the many hopeless attempts he's made over the past two weeks to meet a young lady who can play the role he needs her to play.

He thinks of Lizzie Bennet - a colleague, an educated young woman, a friend of his assistant.

"Charlotte," Miss Bennet starts saying, "I don't think - "

"Sounds like a wonderful plan, Ms. Collins," Darcy concludes aloud. He even smiles a little.

There is a small smile on Ms. Collins's face as well.

"Thank you for your suggestion." He nods at his assistant. Then he looks at Lizzie Bennet, who is looking at him. "Thank you for your assistance, Miss Bennet. I look forward to the collaboration."

He meets Marcus from Henderson and Pratt that afternoon with decidedly less stress than he expected to feel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am having way too much fun with this story. I hope you are too! For plot purposes, I have chosen to portray Darcy as sort of socially awkward. It just works better than having him be outright insensitive. I hope it's more adorkable than anything :)


	3. The First Fight

"I am _not_ dating William Darcy!" Lizzie groans into the phone trapped between her cheek and her shoulder. She fiddles with her pasta sauce. It's always nice to make herself some home-cooked food after a relatively shorter work day (because there was no way she was staying in the office after that lunch debacle). "Under no circumstances was your suggestion acceptable, Char."

The laughter that comes through her phone is very, _very_ grating - and Charlotte is never grating.

She usually isn't, at least.

"It's not so bad, alright?"

"That's easy for you to say - all stable and settled with your round muffin of a husband." Lizzie pours the sauce over the pasta in her favorite, MasterChef-worthy bowl. "And without a snooping mother to boot."

"Your snooping mother is the reason this works, alright?"

"She's going to kill me!"

"For bringing home a boyfriend like she's always asked you to?"

"No, for dangling a steak in front of her and then snatching it away." Lizzie settles on the couch, _The Crown_ ready to run on Netflix. "She will _end_ me when she learns that it's all fake."

"Does it have to be?"

"What do you mean?"

"Does it have to be fake?"

"Charlotte," Lizzie warns.

"Alright, alright." The laughter is there, again. " _She_ doesn't have to know it's fake, right? You can do each other a favor and pretend to be a couple for the holidays. Then you go your separate ways after that. Easy peasy."

"Need I remind you how these fake dating tropes always go?"

"What?"

"Fake dating doesn't work. It becomes real - for one party, or for both. And it's awkward because this is technically my boss."

"So?"

"So? You do see the problem, don't you?"

"Social media will do most of the work. Snap a few pictures, share them with the world, and suddenly you're everyone's new hot topic. I already have your HR papers ready to go."

Lizzie sighs, because Charlotte doesn't get it. She slides her bowl on the coffee table of her snug one-bedroom apartment. "The problem is not going to be convincing people that we're dating. He doesn't date. I don't date. No one has anything to compare to, really. I know it's easy to fake it."

"Alright."

Lizzie throws her head back against the couch, her pony-tail gliding over the edge of the back to hang behind it.

"Then what's the problem?" Charlotte asks.

"The problem - is that in order to be convincing, we just might have to convince ourselves. That's how it always goes."

"And?"

"And don't you see the problem?"

"Do I see the problem of you potentially falling in love with your handsome, successful, millionaire fake boyfriend - and him with you? No, Lizzie, I don't see a problem."

Maybe Charlotte does get it - just with an entirely different take.

Lizzie sighs. "Char - "

"Sleep on it. It's not as bad as it sounds."

"But, Char - "

"Go to bed, Lizzie. I'll see you in the morning."

"I'm still having dinner."

"Then have dinner, draw a bath, imagine your wonderful life with the one and only William Darcy - and go to bed."

"Char - "

"Bye, Lizzie."

And Charlotte hangs up - with a grating, audible smirk.

* * *

"Hey."

He looks up from his phone, even though he's halfway through a subscription piece on the changing trends in Internet marketing. How does a company manage both to respect its clients' privacy and to strategically expose them to the most relevant products? It's fascinating stuff.

He stands up from his usual table - reserved by his infallible assistant - and nods. "Miss Bennet."

Lizzie Bennet smiles, though just a little. She looks girlier than usual. She's never unfeminine, even in her slacks and blouses at the office. She's always dressed functionally - quite unlike all the over-pimped assistants he had before Mrs. Collins came into his life. Today, she's in a dress. And she looks nice in a soft coral dress with little flowers, he thinks. In fact, she looks very pretty.

"Please, have a seat," he tells her before he sits down again.

She slips on the chair. The waiter hands her a menu.

As lunch places go - The Mode is one of his favorites. It's comfortable and bright. The food is fresh. And, more importantly, it's a very manageable four blocks from Pemberley.

Lunch is only good until it becomes disruptive.

"Are you ready to order?" He asks Lizzie Bennet. She glances at him, menu in hand. She rolls the side of her lower lip under her teeth. It's rather adorable.

"Do you - recommend anything?" She squeaks.

Darcy scans the menu. "The salads are all preferable, though you might want to try the c _onfit de canard_ if you want something above the standard fare."

"Standard fare." She scoffs.

"Yes," he replies. "I know the choices here are on the plebeian side of things, but they can be quite tasty."

This time, she's frowning when she scoffs.

"You just order what you want, don't you?" She says it almost accusingly. He doesn't know why.

"I would prefer that you order something you would like." He tries to be nice. He doesn't know why she's crossing her arms now, her menu teetering on the edge of the table. "I - oh, of course, don't worry about the price. I'll handle it."

"You'll handle it." She still sounds unimpressed.

Darcy frowns.

Up to this point, he's been sure she'll be easy to get along with.

Now, he still wants to be sure - but he isn't.

"Is something the matter, Miss Bennet?"

"Well, for one, no one calls their girlfriend 'Miss Bennet.'" She cocks a well-deserved brow at him.

Darcy thinks about it.

"Yes, you are right." He nods. "May I call you Lizzie?"

"May I call you William?"

Darcy pauses. No one calls him William, not even family. He's always been Mr. Darcy - or, for his mom, 'William-dear.'

"I would prefer that you call me Will," he clarifies. He waits for her to react poorly, but she just shrugs.

"Okay."

"Thank you - Lizzie."

"No problem, _Will_."

There's a slight tension that starts twisting in his chest at hearing her call him like that - not Mr. Darcy, not 'sir,' not 'boss.'

He nods. He raises his hand to call the waiter. The familiar face approaches and takes the double _confit de canard_ order in stride.

Darcy seldom brings guests here. The garden-like tone of the décor doesn't quite shout professionalism.

But it does exude a warm, cozy, cheerful feeling of a lawn party in early summer or late spring.

"You don't have to pay me for this, you know?" Miss Bennet - _Lizzie_ speaks up. "This is supposed to be a mutually beneficial social experiment. I'm not an escort you hire and pretty up."

Darcy frowns, keenly offended. "Of course not. You are an outstanding professional that Pemberley is lucky to have on our team. I consider you my equal in every way, Lizzie - and I am extremely grateful that you are willing to aid me in my predicament this year."

It takes a while for her to reply. Darcy is unsure if he's inadvertently offended her instead.

Then she smiles - a very pretty smile. "For the record, we're helping _each_ _other_. And I think that Charlotte set up this lunch to help us with that."

Darcy nods. That's the agreement. He agrees with the agreement. At least she no longer seems upset.

"Whatever you need to know about me, please, ask away," he opens the floor.

"Did you always want to work at Pemberley?"

"I - I never disliked it. My father founded the company and never ceased to talk about its vision at home. I suppose, somewhere along the way, I caught on myself."

She nods. "Cool. I - well, I always wanted to work at Pemberley Corp. It was my dream job, you know? Ever since undergrad."

There is a glowing satisfaction from knowing she admires his work.

Darcy smiles. "Are you satisfied with your work?"

"Is this about work again? Or about us?"

The way she says the word 'us' - so casually, so smoothly - catches him off guard. And, suddenly, Darcy's shirt feels a little too tight.

"Soup of the day," the waiter announces, before pouring the creamy liquid onto their respective bowls.

They enjoy the warm, steamy cream of mushroom in silence.

When the duck comes, they talk again. She mentions her mother's incessant nagging over the single state of her middle child. He laments, with moderation, about the board's dated views on what constitutes a stable man. When their eyes meet over the desert menu, he finds himself smiling - at the kinship and the understanding.

Ms. Collins has good friends.

"I guess we just averted our first fight," Lizzie says, when the bill is paid and the hour is done and he's helping her slip on her beige fall coat.

He frowns a little. "Our first fight? I don't recall us fighting, Lizzie."

"Yes, because we didn't." She chuckles while tying the ribbons on her coat into a complicated type of bow. Women's fashion is terribly varied. "But, you know the trope. There has to be a first fight."

"The trope?"

"Of every single rom-com. There is a - " She trails off with rounded eyes, staring at him in shock.

He doesn't know what he's done to shock her.

"Is everything alright, Lizzie?"

"Yup, yup. Perfect. Thanks for lunch. It's amazing."

"I'm glad." He shrugs on his own outerwear. "We shall meet here again in a week?"

"Yup!" She squeaks. He hopes she's not catching a cold with that strange, pitchy voice. "See ya then!"

She runs ahead of him on the way back to Pemberley. Darcy figures she has something to do that afternoon. On his part, a brisk walk off of a happy lunch is as light-hearted as his days go.

Maybe Lizzie Bennet isn't just good for the board.

Maybe she's good for him too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what I'm doing being so upfront about the tropes. Lol. Maybe ODC will surprise us!


	4. The Ground Rules

"Hi." He looks up and smiles when she approaches the table, one week after their supposed first date.

He's nice, and early, and courteous, and unfairly handsome.

How is she going to come out of this unscathed again?

"Hi." Lizzie smiles back and slips into the seat across from him. It's the same table as last time. He must be requesting it.

It takes her just a minute to realize that he's only glancing at the menu without reading it in detail. She's not sure if the behavior indicates a surprising familiarity level with the cozy restaurant or a general dislike for details.

The former is fine. The latter bodes a little ominously for what she plans to talk about today - but it was highly necessary, especially after last time's conversation.

"Would you like the same thing again?" He asks, his hand already hailing down their waiter.

She shakes her head out of the clouds. "I, uhm - sure."

He smiles, nods, and orders for the both of them. He also asks for two glasses of a wine she can't recognize. The man is a mystery.

"Alright, now that that is settled." He pulls his chair up closer to the table, and thereby pulling himself closer to her. "Ms. Collins said that you have something to discuss?"

He's not prevaricating. He's actually _inviting_ her to talk about their strange un-relationship.

Somebody kill her now.

Lizzie chuckles, very awkwardly. "Oh, uhm, I'm not sure if you would like to talk about that, actually."

"On the contrary, I am quite curious as to what we have to discuss."

"I - it's just that - there are some - " Lizzie sighs. She's a confident, eloquent, successful career woman. She's spoken in front of hundreds of people at a time, including the person in front of her. This really isn't supposed to be a challenge. "We need to coordinate some things for this to work."

He frowns just a little. "For this?"

"For our - arrangement." Lizzie licks her lips. "Our so-called relationship."

"Oh, right." Mr. Darcy - _Will_ , that is - nods matter-of-factly. "Are you referring to the social media accounts Ms. Collins once mentioned?"

Of course he is dealing with this like a corporate project - heartless and impersonal. There has to be a reason a man as eligible as he is manages to still be single, after all.

"That's part of it," Lizzie acknowledges.

"I promised her that we will take a photo or two today. She recommended that we wait until the food arrives so it appears more natural?" He sounds like he's never heard of Instagram. The man is, in some ways, extremely adorable.

Lizzie chuckles, awkwardly again. "Sure."

Will nods. "Thank you. I must admit this is all unfamiliar for me. I've never truly dated anyone since college, and I am quite uncertain how adults approach the whole ordeal these days. Goodness, I suppose the board has a point, don't they?"

The way he looks at her now, with a twinkle of an inside joke in his eyes, is nothing short of charming.

And Lizzie smiles, for real. "Maybe they do."

Will smiles back happily, and the waiter serves appetizers to a much more light-hearted couple than he did last week.

It's nice like this - a casual workday lunch, with civil company in a refreshing environment. She misses trading packed lunches with Charlotte, but they still get to do that three times a week, at least.

"Are the photos all you wished to talk about?" Will asks halfway through the meal, a simple sincerity written all over his face.

It's hard to reconcile the little boy inside him with the powerful corporate force that he is externally. But maybe those are the things you only know when you get to know someone better.

"Well, there's more," Lizzie admits. She wipes her lips with the napkin. "We need to, uhm, discuss holiday plans, for one."

"Ah, right, of course."

"My family tends to emphasize Christmas over New Year. They do the church services, the big tree, the presents, the whole shebang. It also acts as a family reunion of sorts, and we get to see our cousins and stuff."

"I see."

"So I think they really would expect me - expect _us_ \- at Christmas." She steals a glance at Will. He's somehow not disagreeing.

Instead, he shrugs. "Sounds perfect."

Her chest gets a little bit tighter as the circumstances get a little more real.

But she continues, "I hope I'm not ruining any plans for Christmas?"

"Not at all. My sister has a charity that requires her to be with military families on Christmas. There have been times that I've joined her. Otherwise, I tend to spend Christmas alone."

Suddenly, her heart breaks a little for him.

"Alone?"

"It's not a problem," Will replies. "With my parents passing away when we were so young, we never did have time to develop any family traditions. So, yes, I would be very much available and willing to join your family for Christmas. I look forward to participating in all the festivities."

"Yes, of course." She wonders, really wonders, if he has _any_ idea what he's walking into.

"As for the New Year - "

"Yes?"

"Well." He chuckles sheepishly. It's his turn to be shy. "My sister and I do tend to spend New Year's Eve together - for the charity ball."

"Charity ball?"

"Oh, you're not aware. I mean, of course, why would you be?" His laugh is stilted now. "We, uhm - the Darcy family has a charity foundation that passed onto my hands after the death of my parents. With Pemberley keeping me busy most of the time, the holidays tends to be the best time for us to actually get in touch with our donors. New Year's Eve is when we host our annual ball."

A ball in modern America - this just keeps getting weirder.

"I see." Lizzie doesn't know what to think, really. "Would you like me to join you and your sister for New Year's?"

And then, there's a smile on both his face and in his eyes. "I would very much love it if you could. The board members are mostly the foundation's associates, so it will suit our purposes perfectly."

Their purposes are, of course, the only reason they're doing this at all.

Lizzie nods. "Sure. I would love to."

"Thank you." He says it with so much simple sincerity that you'd think she's donating her life savings to his fancy foundation.

"No problem."

They move on with their meal, and they even share a slice of chocolate cake.

It's all so laughably Instagrammable, to be honest.

"Is there anything else we need to discuss?" He asks, when he gets the bill - because he has vehemently insisted that he pay for everything.

"Well - " She hesitates, because it's awkward, because it's silly. But it's also very necessary. "I was thinking we could set some - ground rules?"

He stops, then he replies, "What rules are you thinking about?"

"Well, you know, to sell the relationship, we have to, you know - like, do some physical expressions of affection," she finds the most formal words she can - because they're the least awkward ones in the end.

"Such as kissing?"

Well, there goes ground rule number one.

"Well, yes - such as that." She struggles to keep a straight face. She has to keep a straight face.

"I suppose we will have to if the occasion calls for it," he says it so casually that she wonders if he's half-robot, after all, "but I would think walking hand in hand and often sitting together would be more than sufficient to create the appearance of dating."

He can be formal too. Two can play at the game, apparently.

It's just unfair that he seems to be so good at it.

"Mm hmm."

"Very well."

"Very well, and oh, uhm - " She might as well say it, while they're at it. "Is it okay if we - skip on the Christmas presents? I mean, I don't want you to feel obligated to get anyone presents, and I - "

"I must at least bring something for your parents."

He must, of course.

He's right.

"Alright, just them," she concedes.

He nods.

"But don't get anything for me, alright? You don't need to get me anything, and there really isn't anything I _can_ give you that you can't afford."

He seems to think for a moment. Then he agrees. "Alright then."

"Alright. Thanks." Lizzie sighs. It's relieving to have it over with.

"Shall we?" He asks like they came together, like they're leaving together - like that's a thing.

Lizzie actually smiles when she slings her purse over her shoulder. "Sure."

* * *

Lunch went by so much more ideally than she ever expected that Lizzie lowers her guard, for once, just a little.

And that is, of course, when they run into someone he knows.

"William Darcy!" The tall, broad-shouldered man in a beige suit shakes her fake boyfriend's hand. "I've been trying to get a hold of you for ages."

Will stiffens beside her, his left hand finding her lower back - where it's been distractingly hovering close to since they left their table two minutes ago.

Two minutes can, apparently, be a very long time.

"Grangers, right?" Will acknowledges the man with the big, hearty handshakes.

Mr. Grangers flashes them a winning smile. "You're a tough man to pin down, Darcy."

"I've been busy," Will replies as he lets go.

"With a very dashing lady, it seems." The man won't stop smiling, even when he glances over at Lizzie - Lizzie and her three-year-old dress, Lizzie and her worn work heels. "If you have time for lunch, Darce, you _must_ make time for our show."

Will's laugh is shaky, not like the way he laughed earlier today. "I'm not one for the television lenses, Granger."

"You'll be our number one guest shark. You'll get _real_ investments that can reap you real rewards."

"I understand how _Shark Tank_ works."

"Then perhaps you should join us!"

"My schedule is full," Will insists.

Because even though William Darcy is ridiculously famous and, in all honesty, rather photogenic (if those photos on her Insta account right now don't lie) - he still hates attention.

And the person he tends to be when alone with Lizzie is a different man from the one the rest of the company sees - the one the rest of the world sees.

It brings an odd sense of privilege, if she's honest with herself.

"Darcy - "

"I can donate funds if you find a good one." Will is resolute. "But give someone else the chance to sit in those chairs."

Mr. Granger shakes his head, larger-than-life. "You owe me one, Darcy."

"I don't believe I do."

"Come on, man, there has to be something I can do to get you - "

"If you will excuse me, Granger." Will stands a little closer to Lizzie, his finger curving against her waist. She tries to smile naturally, with all her might. "My _girlfriend_ and I need to head back to the office."

"Can I call - "

"My assistant will be glad to address any concerns you may have. Thank you."

And with an admirable degree of command, Will guides her by the back until they're out the door - the crisp autumn air kissing the skin of her warmed cheeks. They walk together for a block or so - maybe halfway back to Pemberley - before he lets go of her back to walk freely beside her.

Around the corner to Pemberley, she flashes him an awkward little smile. He nods back with a smile of his own. And it's all business once they reach the lobby.

What she doesn't tell anyone is that, for the entire rest of the day, she can't do a single thing without the memory of a large, warm hand on her back coming to take her attention away.

Their strange agreement comes with free meals, hearty conversation, and a closer look at the elusive William Darcy. It comes with adorably awkward moments of being referred to as his girlfriend.

Too bad it comes with some dangerous landmines too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Darcy's not the only awkward one, sometimes :)


	5. The Twist

He walks up the final flight of stairs, Chinese take-out in hand. The building is nice, though the lack of an elevator did surprise him. There is a rustic charm to the brick and mortar feel that his own glass-paneled residence didn't have.

He takes a final peek into the paper bag to make sure he got everything. For a girl her size, Lizzie has a rather impressive appetite - not that he has had the chance to observe her meals too much recently. There's a reason they're meeting at her house, at nine o'clock, to eat over-salted and over-sweetened food.

His days haven't exactly been leisurely since their last lunch at The Mode.

He knocks, sharp and succinct. She opens her door a minute later with a welcoming smile.

"Hi! Thanks for coming over. I know we've been talking about this for forever, but it's just _so hard_ to find time and space around the office."

He walks inside while she talks. Her place is - nice. A simple sofa set lies in the middle of the living room, its warm colors rendered even more warm by the cozy lighting. The beige walls are mostly bare, and only one wall has two modernistic paintings.

The place feels like an intersection of tradition and modernity - much like its owner.

"Hey, you can put the food down anywhere. I'm so glad they had the duck wantons today. It's their special, you know?" She busies herself with getting them water. He's happy to see her slipping two slices of lemon into his glass, even though hers remains ungarnished. "I wanted to swing by to get the food - but, as you know, Rathford had that false alarm so we had to stay another two hours."

Darcy watches her glide around in her comfort zone. Her T-shirt and jeans don't look anywhere remotely close to shabby, but it is _different_ to see her like this - dressed down, casual. He lowers the food on the coffee table.

"Are we eating here?" He asks dumbly.

She glances over her shoulder from the small kitchen bar. "Yeah. No where else, really. Sorry I'm not hiding a formal dining room anywhere in this apartment, though having space for some of my old books would be nice."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult."

"Ha, you didn't." She chuckles. She finishes whatever she's fidgeting with and walks back into the middle of the apartment. She hands him his glass. "So, you wanna sit?"

Darcy looks at the small L-shaped couch she's pointing at with her elbow. He takes a prim and proper seat on one end. She bounces onto the other side, nearer to the corner than the edge.

"Noodles _and_ wantons." She smiles as he unpacks the food. "Must be my lucky day."

He smiles and nods. They dig in wordlessly for a few minutes, both distracted by the surprisingly good food. Someone really should patent duck wantons with hoisin sauce.

Soon, the large volume of food has dwindled half in size. And while Darcy is starting to find his appetite sated, Lizzie is still munching away.

She can be adorable at times.

"So what is our goal tonight?" He asks, when she leans over to open the last box of duck wantons. He sips from his glass, enjoying the acidic touch. Mrs. Collins must have told her about his hydrating practices. Mrs. Collins also reminded him - "Oh, dear."

"Yeah?" She looks up at him briefly before resuming her very important task of transporting dainty wantons to her bowl.

"Ms. Collins reminded me at the office today to take pictures of our dinner before we ate it. It completely slipped my mind."

"Is this for Instagram again?"

"I believe so. It seems that taking a picture of us eating in your apartment would provide ample proof to the media that we are indeed a couple."

He's not sure what's wrong with what he said, but she's suddenly acting a little more stiffly and appearing rather flushed. He hopes she's not sick. She _has_ been working rather hard of late.

"Lizzie?"

"She's not wrong." His pretend girlfriend pokes her noodles and half a wanton with her chopsticks. "Most couples nowadays would live together by now."

He nods absent-mindedly. He's never truly given much thought to what couples were _supposed_ to do these days.

"Do you think we should?"

"Live together!" She slams her bowl on her lap, eyes wide. "We haven't even, like - spent a lot of time - like, platonically, or whatever."

Darcy frowns. She is adorable at times - and very confusing at other times, as well.

"I am not saying that we should."

"Oh - okay." She pokes at her food again.

Darcy watches her, growing incrementally more confused the more she stays silent.

He clears his throat. "Would your family expect it?"

"Expect what?"

"That we live together."

She laughs - but it sounds harsher than usual. "The total opposite. My mom would _freak_ if she heard about me bunking with a boyfriend. My grandfather was a minister, you know. The family's conservative in almost every sense of the word."

"I see."

"Yeah."

"That is not a problem."

"Thanks."

She offers him a small smile this time. He feels himself returning it.

He spends the next few minutes finishing his food. At least the silence feels easier now - and not quite as strained as it did at his first allusion to living arrangements. He enjoys things this way better, anyway.

But then - the thought occurs.

"So, Lizzie." He looks up.

"Yeah?" Her dark hair frames her against the couch. She's back to the adorable side of things again.

"You mentioned that your family is conservative - religious, perhaps?"

She nods, chewing.

"I was just thinking that - if that's the case - " He thinks of a good way to voice his concern. "Would it be a problem if you continue to deceive them about your relationship?"

Her chewing slows.

Then she looks down, and she looks sad.

And he feels a pang in his chest for causing her to look this way.

"I hope I'm not offending, Lizzie."

"No." Her voice is small - almost timid, mostly resigned. She's refocused on poking her food. "It's not your fault."

"You _are_ uncomfortable with deceiving them?"

"Well, yeah!" When she looks up, he can almost see a sheen of tears in her eyes. "It's just, you know. I'm frustrated at my mom - a lot. But I'm also close to my family, especially Jane and my dad. And after all these years of dodging their questions about my love life, it feels a little miserable that the _one time_ I get to say that I have someone has to be a lie."

He feels what she feels. He thinks he does.

The deception isn't quite up his alley either.

"But what can we do, right?" She sniffs. She smiles bitterly at her destructed food. "That's what we agreed to do."

Darcy nods. If this conversation had come up two weeks ago, he would have asked to cease the agreement. It simply wasn't worth it for the arrangement to continue if it hurt her in the process.

But this isn't two weeks ago.

This is now.

And the board has been acting favorably towards him since the news of the supposed turn in his dating life. The magazines have stopped trying to hypothesize what kind of girl he would end up with. Unbeknownst to Lizzie, he's already asked Georgiana to curate an attire to the New Year charity ball for the girl he'll be bringing along.

It's a little too late.

"Unless - " He hears himself saying.

She sniffs, twice. "Yeah?"

"Unless we don't deceive them," he says. He is forming his plan as he goes.

"Like, how?"

"We can date - for real." He looks up, at her. "That way, you would not be lying to them."

He's not sure at what point her mouth falls agape, but it is certainly wide open now.

"Will, you know - "

"It doesn't have to change the plan in any way," he continues. "We will visit your family at Christmas. We will host the New Year's ball together. Everything can go on as it was supposed to. The only difference is that we date - for real. It truly is only a label, after all."

She looks like she's thinking. He wonders what she's thinking.

He hopes she will agree - because he is starting to feel a little proud about his impromptu solution. He _is_ a good critical thinker, after all.

"And after?" she squeaks.

"After what?"

"After my family gets off my back and you get your promotion - do we, like, break-up for real then?"

Darcy considers. She is making a good amount of sense.

"I suppose so," he says. "It sounds like the best execution of the plan."

She doesn't reply, not for a while.

When she does, her voice sounds very much higher than it usually does. "Okay."

* * *

It's early December, and even the snow outside is determined to be difficult. With two weeks to Christmas, she's run out of excuses to delay. Her parents have to know - and she's just a little too relieved that her supposedly-for-real-now boyfriend is willing to make this call with her.

"I'm sorry I'm late," he apologizes the moment he walks inside her apartment.

"No worries." She smiles. "Hope you like pasta."

"I definitely do."

She smiles all the way to the kitchen.

They've learned, after a second instance of someone recognizing him at The Mode, that it's far better to have their meal conferences at her place. At least, this way, she gets to wind down first as she waits for his inevitably long work hours to end.

She even wonders, sometimes, how he used to manage dinner.

"Should I wait for a formal briefing before we do this?" He asks, when they've settled down with their plates, tucked comfortably on both ends of her couch.

Lizzie smiles - albeit nervously. "I've honestly never done this before either."

"You don't talk to your parents?"

"I do. I mean - yeah." She picks at her spaghetti. She hopes he likes her cooking. "I talk to them often, especially my mom. She'll kill me if she doesn't hear from me for a week. I mean, seriously, we're all grown up and we don't need our parents, and we - "

She trails off at the tight look on his face.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" She scrambles to apologize just as his expression turns sad. How can she even consider - "I'm _such_ a jerk. Oh my goodness!"

"it's alright," he says quietly.

"No, it's not!" Lizzie slides her bowl on the coffee table. She scoots closer to him. "Will, I'm _so_ sorry. I - I mean, of course - parents, no matter how difficult, are still better than no parents at all. And I can't believe I was _so_ insensitive, and I just - man, I'm so - "

"Lizzie, it's fine." He meets her eyes just as he covers her left hand with his right. He sports a small, sad smile. "I know you didn't mean any harm."

"Not at all - not one bit."

"I know."

She nods, glad for his graciousness. She picks up her bowl again when he starts eating from his.

Why is this strong, quiet man - this kind, handsome person - still single at his age? Why is he dating _her_ , of all people?

Lizzie does her daily dose of very necessary self-reminding that he just needs help with the board. Because, of course, that's the only reason he needs her at all.

"Should be still early in the day for your family, shouldn't it?" He asks ten minutes later, when they're both mostly done eating. At least he looks like he enjoyed the food.

"Uhm, yeah." Lizzie slides her phone on the coffee table, positioning it equidistantly between them. "They should be having their typical early dinner soon. At least with my sisters around, my mom's reactions tend to be a little more tempered - just a little."

Will smiles. He's very charming when he smiles. "Very well then."

"Right."

Lizzie swallows her nerves - and her pasta - and calls her mother on speakerphone.

"Hello! Lizzie, my single child!" Mom's voice pierces through her apartment like a bolt of shrieking lightning.

"Hey, Mom." She takes a glance at Darcy. He gives her an encouraging nod. "So, uhm - I'm calling because, uhm, I figured there's something you'd want to know."

"Oh, dear, this sounds horrible! Did you lose your job? Are you - are you _pregnant_ and still without a boyfriend?"

Lizzie chuckles joylessly. This is the _worst_ version of Mom - the one no one should ever, ever see unless they're already part of the family - and maybe not even then.

She looks desperately at Will. He's grimacing, but at least he's not running.

"It's neither of the two, Mom."

"Is it worse? Oh, goodness, darling, do you have cancer? You never sound so solemn when you call."

The mirthless chuckling resumes.

Lizzie clears her throat. "Nope. Nothing bad."

"Oh, I see. Well - I suppose that's good news then. You will be coming for Christmas, right? You promised your father weeks ago."

"Yup, definitely coming. I've been working a lot to cover for the hours."

Lizzie feels Will looking at her. She's a little too mission-minded right now to pay any attention to that little fact.

"So, anyway, Mom, I'm just calling to let you know that - I'm bringing someone to Christmas this year."

There's a small pause. "Did your friend Charlotte's husband leave her? I know you've always said she's too good for him, but it's still sad whenever a marriage falls apart. It's just not meant to be that way."

"No, Mom, nothing like that - " Lizzie sighs. This is exasperating. Her only comfort, in fact, is that Will's grimace is now laced with a bit of a smile. "I'm bringing a guy. I met someone - at work. My boyfriend's coming."

This time, the long, pregnant pause is the calm before a storm.

" _You have a boyfriend! Oh, thank God! It's been years! I always knew that if we prayed and waited long enough, there would be - "_ Her mother continued her praise and adulation of the Lord Almighty for the next ten minutes.

Lizzie watches her phone with a helpless sigh.

Will pats her shoulder. They exchange smiles.

"Thanks for doing this," she tells him, her mother's screeching in the background.

He smiles. "No worries."

She looks down. "She will grill you like a piece of steak, you know."

"I figured."

"I mean, I - I'm in uncharted waters too, though, so I don't know how much I can help you."

"It's fine."

He doesn't look upset, and he doesn't look appalled. At most, he just appears amused.

He's a blessing, this guy.

" - _and your father said that I shouldn't put any pressure on you, that it was archaic to assume that all women need to marry, but you know that I know that - "_

"Mrs. Bennet," Will suddenly opts to speak. He magically shuts Mom up with a single call of her name. He looks at Lizzie, as if for permission, before continuing at her nod. "I look forward to meeting the family over Christmas."

"You're - you are - Lizzie, are you _with_ him right now?"

"Yes, Mom. We're on a date," she yells onto her phone.

"Oh, dear me, then pardon me. I must - oh, what is your name, you wonderful young man?"

This time, it's very obvious that Will is holding back a smile. "William."

"Ah, we shall see you for the holidays, shan't we?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good, good - very good!"

"Bye, Mom," Lizzie hollers, "I need to get back to my date now. Bye!"

"Goodbye now, dearest!"

And, for the first time in _years_ , Mom is the first to hang up.

It only takes half a second for Lizzie and Will to look at each other, bite their lips, and fall into uproarious laughter.

"My mother is ridiculous!"

"She is interesting."

"You're too nice, Will."

"I am a wonderful young man, did you not hear?"

They both chuckle for a very long time. It's nice like this - relaxing, intimate.

It's the kind of date that Lizzie would never have expected to get to have with someone at work, much less the director himself.

"I do wonder though," he says then.

She meets his eyes, smiling. "Yeah?"

"Is there a - particular reason why you chose to tell your mother we met at work?"

"Because - we did."

"Well, yes, of course." He looks down for a bit before looking back up. "I just want to know if there are any red flags, in a sense. Is it a problem if we mention my position in the company?"

And it all comes back - to his role for Pemberley.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Will. I - I didn't know you would take offense at my not mentioning you as the acting director. I - I guess I just never thought of you that way. I mean, yes, of course, I admire what you do for the company. You really are a wonderful young man, and I - "

She stops when she finds out she's rambling.

Again, he is miraculous smiling instead of running away.

"Thank you, Lizzie." He takes a sip from his glass.

"For what?"

"Well, as you haven't mentioned my work - or even my name, actually - I will have the opportunity, for the first time in my entire life, to make an impression to a group of people who hold no previous knowledge of me whatsoever. I do not have expectations to meet - or prejudices to conquer."

"And you - like that?"

His smile turns soft instead of playful. He is unfairly handsome. "I do. I truly do. Thank you."

It takes a huge amount of resistance not to kiss him then - nor when they hug goodbye at her door an hour later.

Lizzie collapses on the couch the moment he leaves.

She really can't decide anymore if this entire ordeal is life's biggest adventure - or the worst idea she's ever, ever had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope it was nice and fluffy :) Next chapter: the Bennets!


	6. The Bennet Family Christmas

"Ready?" He smiles down at her in his perfectly awkward yet perfectly sincere way. Their joint hands hover between them.

This is it - the point of no return, for real.

"Hm mm," Lizzie squeaks.

Her boyfriend-for-rent rings the doorbell, the window shades gets pulled back, Mom's eyes grow rounder than Lizzie's ever seen them, and the door flies open three seconds later.

"Lizzie! And you must be William!" Hugs - of the bone-crushing variety - quickly follow.

"Hi, Mom." Lizzie chuckles, barely.

"Mrs. Bennet." Will, to his credit, manages to say with the simple nobility of a modern CEO.

The unfolding of the next two hours live up to Lizzie's expectations, in every single way. Jane, as usual, is an enthusiastic angel. Mom won't stop screaming. Dad greets Will with a handshake and a nod (Lizzie has to admit the simple greeting made her calm down just a bit). And Lydia - the incomparable Lydia - won't stop pestering Darcy with questions.

"What's a guy like you doing with my sister, again?"

Lizzie holds her breath and peeks at Will.

"I assure you I am hard pressed to find anyone as lovely and professional as your sister." His reply isn't perfect, but he says it in the earnest way he says everything - and it works.

"She's literally _never_ dated a looker before."

"A looker?"

"Someone who, you know, puts up with her even when he looks way out of her league." Lydia loses herself in her own laughter, and Lizzie squeezes Will's hand and shrugs it all away.

More introductions follow that afternoon. Jane's husband Charlie and their two adorable kids arrive right before dinner, the two munchkins shedding snow all over the hallway with impunity. Lydia explains loudly that her fiancée is only absent tonight and that he will be with everyone at church first thing in the morning. The Gardiners pull up a half hour after Charlie, and the decibel level in the small, three-bedroom home grows a hundred percent.

"You okay?" Lizzie squeezes Will's hand, when Uncle Gardiner finally leaves him alone, and right before Lizzie can't avoid kitchen duty any further. She's worried for him, and the hand-squeezing has been her only connection with him all day.

He smiles at her like he doesn't mind.

They've practiced this - the holding hands, the safe words. And he's nothing if not professional, right?

"Your family is lovely, Lizzie." He smiles gently.

And there is no way _that_ is the truth.

"You don't have to lie to me." She whispers in his ear. With her smile, they probably look like they're trading mushy sentences. But then at least Mom would leave them alone. "I know they're impossible."

"They're very warm."

"And stifling."

"And enthusiastic."

"Too much so."

"The children are cute."

"Until they flick their dinner in your face."

"An odd way to make use of food, I see."

"They're nothing if not creative."

They look at each other - and laugh.

And it feels good to laugh.

It feels good to have someone who knows you in your other life - and steps into this version of it with no hesitation. It feels good to know that her two worlds can collide without catastrophic results. It feels good to have someone with her - to laugh with.

And a small corner of her heart starts whispering - that maybe she's finally letting down her guard because it's no longer just pretend for her.

Maybe after all the talks and preparation - all the practice and discussions - she's actually managed to make herself a real relationship, with a real boyfriend, who is currently smiling at her in a room full of her real family.

And she doesn't even know anymore if she should be panicking or doing a victory lap.

"Lizzie!" Mom hollers from the kitchen.

"You sound wanted," Will says.

He doesn't even say it suggestively, but her cheeks warm all the same.

"Seems so." Lizzie smiles. She gives him a hug. He returns it. "I'll see you later."

"I shall be sure to flick the food in your face if I dislike it."

She laughs all the way to the kitchen.

* * *

"I like him, Lizzie. You two seem perfect for each other." Jane sounds motherly and sweet - as she always does.

Lizzie turns away from her sister to watch her father and her boyfriend in deep conversation. It started an hour after dinner, over something about a long and forgotten book series Lizzie used to see on Dad's desk. Will, apparently, has read that series - and the two men have been talking ever since.

The fireplace hums. The children, having eaten and flicked and played their fill, are dozing off one by one on the much-abused carpet.

In the corner, the tree hobbles proudly over the giant pile of presents.

It's been a long time since Lizzie has enjoyed Christmas Eve.

Who knew this night could turn out so well?

"Thanks, Jane."

"I always knew there would be someone special for you - after all those years."

"I'm not _that_ old, Jane."

"No, you're not." The older sister smiles warmly at the younger one. "But, you know, I've found love so young and it's wonderful and I - I just can't help wishing the same for you."

"I _have_ found - "

"I know." Jane clasps a hand over Lizzie's. Here on the carpet, just a few feet from the fire, it almost feels as if they're both teenagers again.

It's warm, and familiar, and so heart-achingly domestic that Lizzie can almost cry.

"And I am _so_ happy it's with someone so perfect for you," Jane concludes.

Lizzie doesn't know what to say - because what _do_ you say in the face of a compliment so simple, so sincere, and so ironically misplaced?

"Thanks," Lizzie mutters.

Jane smiles.

And two hours later, when Jane's family has left and Lydia's chatting outside on the porch and Dad's declared that he's had way more than enough eggnog - Lizzie walks her boyfriend up the stairs towards the guest room down the hall. She winces at the house, at every bit of chipped wallpaper and every creaking floorboard. He acts the exact opposite - glancing at each corner around him as if he were in a museum built on some hallowed historical ground.

"Hope this is fine." Lizzie shrugs, when they finally reach the last room, the open door behind her.

"It's beautiful," Will answers after he glances in, surprising her completely.

"Will, it's just a guest room."

"It's very cozy, and spacious."

"They're not here anymore." She drops her voice into half its volume. "You don't have to pretend, you know?"

"And who says I am?"

He meets her eyes.

And there's light and laughter in his eyes than she hasn't seen at all from all the times she's met him as Pemberley's CEO.

Who knew he was a good enough actor to take _all_ of that in stride?

"Goodnight, Will," she says, before she can say anything worse.

And, on impulse, she tiptoes to lean against the side of his face - and plants a kiss on his cheek.

She's almost shocked still when he kisses her back on the side of her face.

"Goodnight, Lizzie."

She slides down slowly back on her feet.

"See you tomorrow," she squeaks - and dives into the room next door.

* * *

"Presents!" Jane's kids are the first to run towards the tree while everyone else sheds their outerwear.

"How gracious of Pastor Ron to keep his message short this morning," Dad quips. He's the first to sink into his chair. "One can hardly expect people to be awake on Christmas morning."

"They sure are." Lizzie grins at the children, who are already two presents in each.

She folds herself onto the carpet next to the fireplace. She smiles up at Will when he follows suit next to her.

"This one's for Grandpa!"

"This one's for Grandma!"

"Aunt Lydia!"

The overenthusiastic little Santa Clauses promptly deliver any presents blocking the way to more of theirs.

Lizzie smiles when Mom settles into the middle seat of the couch.

"Should we start with the stockings?" There's a twinkle in her mother's eyes. It's a twinkle she hasn't seen in a long, long time.

Unpacked stockings yield candies and plushies for the kids, makeup and socks and mints for the ladies, and a mixture of snacks and cheap toiletries for the men.

"I'm sorry," Lizzie whispers, her hand over the plastic razor in Will's hand, when everyone else is too busy sorting through their own stocking spoils.

"It's fine." He sounds way more assuring than he should. "I know how to use one of these."

And she laughs. She laughs the way she did when he'd mentioned how much Pastor Ron looked like that guy in the newsstand across Pemberley Corp. She laughs the way she did when Jane's kids almost trampled Will on their way down the hallway just now.

And it's a kind of laugh that makes her eyes water, just a bit.

"Oh, you shouldn't have!" Mom exclaims, and Lizzie notices the beautiful set of painted china on her lap. "Thank you, William."

It takes her a second - then she whips her head around to look at her boyfriend.

"You?"

"You mentioned that she likes daises." He does a one-shoulder shrug.

Dad is next, and he opens a glistening collector's edition of his favorite murder mystery series.

Lizzie feels her breath shortening.

"Did I - "

"Yup."

Will's arm lands around her shoulder as Dad thanks him. And Lizzie leans into her boyfriend's shoulder with far more urgency than she's ever felt.

Is this her life?

Is this even real?

He was under no obligation whatsoever to try to give presents that are -

"Aunt Lizzie! This one's from your boyfriend!"

She looks up sharply at the delivery. A quick look at Will just earns her another apologetic half-shrug.

Slowly, she opens the present - to reveal the purse she's been eyeing every time she walked from Pemberley to The Mode. It doesn't look that personal of a gift.

But she knows it is.

And she even sees the telltale blue of a Tiffany box inside the purse - and is determined to keep quiet about that until later.

"Mr. Darcy!" Jane's eldest announces. "This one is yours!"

Then it's Lizzie's turn to look sheepish as he unwraps the vinyl record of his mom's favorite songs. He says, "Thank you." But the look in his eyes say much, much more.

"You didn't follow the rules," he whispers.

"Neither did you."

And she's about to kiss him when Lydia asks, artlessly loudly, "What rules?"

And they're stuck explaining that they meant to give gifts that were a certain price - at a certain place - and maybe in private - or something.

No one looks convinced.

But Mom does step in and say, "Oh, Lizzie, you should kiss him!"

And with Dad looking only partially disapproving, Lizzie does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, calling wontons by their Chinese name all my life means that I have no idea how to spell them properly in English. Lol. Thank you to everyone who pointed it out. I hope you had as merry of a Christmas as Darcy and Lizzie did!


	7. The Darcy New Year

"Can't I come, Will?"

"You'll see her soon."

His own words to his sister ring in his ears as he peers above the heads of everyone hovering near the luggage carousel. He knows he's going to get an earful about the business class ticket he's surprised her with, but he is somehow anxious to see her despite it all.

The holiday rush, even in suburban New England, is a very real thing.

Left and right, families holler at their children and businessmen shed their coats while yelling angrily into their phones. All three carousels are spinning constantly, parading batch after batch of battered luggages of every shape and size. Right outside the terminal, a Santa laughs with his bulging belly, the sound of his cheerful 'ho-ho-ho' echoing into the arrival hall whenever someone fumbles through the automatic doors.

And she's still not here.

"Will!" He hears his name to his right and turns just in time to see a breathtaking Lizzie running - walking, maybe - towards him in her bright red coat. Her luggage rolls merrily behind her. He's glad he got her that too.

The fact that she did ride the plane, and that she did bring the luggage, implies that she may not react too negatively to the rest he has in store for tonight.

He smiles. "Lizzie."

She walks up to him just when he opens his arms. And they hug.

And when they hug, the smell of her hair is an exotic mix of femininity and airline seats. He holds on for a little longer than he expected himself to.

"How was the flight?" He asks cordially, reaching for her luggage.

"You _know_ I didn't need business class," she reprimands.

He just smiles and tugs at her luggage handle until she yields it to him. "I wanted you to be comfortable."

"Are you implying I wouldn't be in coach?"

"We - have a long night ahead of us."

She rolls her eyes, but she's smiling. And they take off towards the parking lot.

"What time is the party?" Lizzie asks, smile bright and voice airy. When a car honks at them right before they cross the street, she loops a hand around his arm. She doesn't remove it when they resume walking.

"The car will come at five. As hosts, we will have to arrive slightly earlier than the rest. I hope you don't mind."

"Of course not."

"Everything you need is already at the house."

"And Georgiana?"

He smiles that she remembers. "She is eager to meet you."

"I guess that's good."

He unlocks the car and loads her luggage in the back.

Then he faces her. "My sister is _very_ eager to meet you, Lizzie, as are my associates tonight. I hope you - understand."

She looks quietly at him for a second. He worries if he's scaring her.

Then her lips tilt into a pretty little smirk. "That bad?"

"I'm sure you will impress them all."

"I - sure." She doesn't look as certain.

"Lizzie." He holds her by the shoulders. "My sister hasn't even met you, and she is already convinced that you are the most delightful woman on the planet. I had to fight her quite hard about coming with me to pick you up."

"Oh." The smirk is replaced by a soft, delectable smile. "But she's not here?"

"She - I - " It's a little difficult to explain himself to her. "I suppose I - preferred some privacy."

"For what?" Lizzie smiles.

He leans down to kiss her, squarely on the lips. He feels her returning his kiss after a small spurt of surprise.

He pulls back.

"For that," he says softly.

"Uh huh." She chuckles. "We're, uhm - practicing for tonight, huh?"

He's not sure if she's a little cold, what with the breathy way she is talking.

He doesn't want her to catch a cold. He likes her far too much for her to catch a cold.

So he decides to agree, before they slip into his car, "Yes, for tonight."

And she smiles softly at him in reply.

* * *

"This is Elizabeth, my girlfriend."

"Mr. Chapman, it's been a while."

"Mrs. Delaney, hi, have you met my girlfriend?"

"Mr. Zhang, Mrs. Zhang, how wonderful to see you again."

"This is Elizabeth."

"Luke! Have you met Lizzie?"

The night continues in a swirl of social interactions that make Lizzie dizzy twice over. She hasn't really had the chance to talk to Will since their arrival at the mansion. How could she when the last three hours have been spent in answering all of Georgiana's wide-eyed questions and in glamoring up for the big night?

But even she has to admit that the pale pink dress Will got her - bespoke, according to Georgiana - makes her feel like a princess.

"Mrs. Fellini! No, not my sister. My girlfriend, Elizabeth."

The introductions continue. Lizzie smiles and nods for wave after wave of people. It's never-ending, and even the glory of the champaign fountains and chandeliers start to fade a little after a while.

Is this how life is for Will?

In a world of endless connections and pomp and circumstance - is it any wonder that he found the Bennet family oddly refreshing?

"Elizabeth, is it?" An old lady catches her by the hand two introductions later. She's thankful she has Will's staying hand on the small of her back, guiding her around all night, telling her he's right there with her. "I always knew he was looking for someone special."

Lizzie chuckles softly, and a little awkwardly. She sends Will a bewildered look.

"Aunt Penelope was close friends with my mom for years," he explains, his stage smile plastered all over his face, though it looks slightly less stiff for now. "She's made sure to remind me every year that it's about time I bring a lady friend."

"A _lady friend_?" Lizzie raises a brow, teasingly.

He has the good sense to look slightly abashed. "I mean - that is - "

"A wonderful companion is what he needs!" Aunt Penelope explains in her rickety yet enthusiastic voice. Her smile, all dentures, is still effervescent in its own way. "And I know a good one when I see one. William Darcy, this one's a _keeper_."

Lizzie chuckles awkwardly again, but Will steps in to excuse them this time.

"I'm sorry about that," he whispers, when they're at least a yard or two away.

"Old people. I get it. Nothing my mom hasn't done."

"I suppose."

"It's fine."

"I don't want you to be uncomfortable."

"Because you don't think I'm a keeper?" She grins at him. He grins back softly.

It's one of those things that is mostly a joke but just as well isn't. And it's leading them into dangerous territory that Lizzie isn't quite ready to face - but is too playful to discipline herself to avoid.

"Of course you are," he whispers, and he leans down to peck her on the lips.

She kisses him back, because she does.

And once they've started, they can't seem to stop.

They kiss when his great-uncle compliments her, they kiss before he steps on stage for his speech, they kiss when he completes the speech, stepping down towards her with relief written all over his face.

And when the countdown to midnight ends with fireworks and horns and overdressed people embracing left and right, he kisses her so passionately that she forgets anything and anyone else exists in the world.

* * *

The fire crackles under the framed pictures of his family.

To his left, Georgiana snores in her pajamas, her upper body draped over the arm of his parents' favorite grey couch. To his right, Lizzie whispers small, happy words in her sleep, her legs curled up to her chest and her head on his lap. Darcy runs his fingers absent-mindedly over the sliver of skin peeking out between Lizzie's baby blue T-shirt and matching pajama bottoms.

Supposedly, being trapped against the couch after a Christmas movie isn't the most comfortable place.

But he'll gladly stay like this, for as long as he can - maybe, for the rest of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the calm before the storm, but I promise I'll keep any sad twists brief!


	8. The Promotion

There's something different in the air on her second day back in the office.

It isn't just the fact that everyone's back from vacation. It isn't just the way the city traffic flusters her up even before she's stepped foot into Pemberley Corp.

There's talking, and buzzing, and people readjusting their offices a little too early for spring cleaning.

When she walks down the hall on her floor, glass walls on both sides of her, she catches glimpses of people talking in clusters - people who abruptly stop whispering when she walks by, only to resume when she's farther away. Either people sneak peeks at her, or they walk up to her with overt friendliness and say, "Congratulations!"

As far as she knows, there's no reason for everyone to treat her like this.

So is she or is she not in an alternate universe?

"Lizzie!" Charlotte greets her at lunch, a bright smile on her matronly face.

It's not as if Charlotte looks _old_ , per se. She just always looks so - married.

"Hey." Lizzie smiles. "It's been a long morning."

"I bet." Charlotte settles down with her food. Lizzie follows suit.

It's nice to be back. There really is nothing like a big, grand, ballroom adventure to make you miss the permanent coffee smell of the break room.

"So - how is Mrs. Darcy?" Charlotte jumps right in, a fork in the air.

Lizzie refuses to blush. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Are you telling me _two_ holiday family trips didn't do _anything_ to the two of you? The mistletoe, the fireplaces, the sweeping dances - nothing?"

 _Now_ , Lizzie is sure she's blushing.

"It was a work trip," she insists. She uses a bite of salad to shield her smile. "And I think we did a good job convincing everyone."

Charlotte scoffs, in a light-hearted way. "I bet you did."

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, obviously, you have the board convinced." Charlotte unwraps another corner of her sandwich. "They didn't wait long announcing the promotion."

And slowly, the smile slips off Lizzie's lips.

"Promotion?"

"You haven't heard? I hope I didn't spoil any surprises he may have for the night," Charlotte explains the life-altering news as if she's reading off a lunch menu. "They've promoted him officially. I am now the executive assistant of Pemberley's company director."

The lettuce crinkles and wilts in Lizzie's stomach - much like her spirit does.

"I see."

"You two must have put off a heck of a show at the New Year ball."

Lizzie can't even bring herself to smile for real. "I guess we did."

* * *

He waits in the lobby, his briefcase on the floor beside him. It's hard to escape unnoticed, but at least a curt nod seems to be sufficient in warding off further conversation anytime someone calls out, "Congratulations, Mr. Darcy" on their way out.

It's half past six - and Lizzie really should be done any minute now.

He glances at the cluster of elevators ever so often. He's grown to know her so well - from the scent of her perfume to the rhythm of the clicking of her heels that it's near impossible for him to miss her.

He checks his phone again, before the elevator dings - and the telltale rhythm begins.

"Lizzie!" He calls out a little more loudly than he originally intended when she strides past him, rushing towards the exit like she has somewhere important to go.

She doesn't have anywhere to go.

At least, he doesn't think so.

"Lizzie!" He calls again, with half the previous distance between them. She slows to a stop right before he catches up with her completely. "I'm here."

She doesn't face him directly.

But when she finally pivots around and looks up towards him, her face is blank and pale.

"Lizzie?" He frowns. "Are you alright?"

She doesn't answer right away, and he wonders if there is something she is holding against him. Georgiana does it, sometimes. It's always bewildering trying to guess what he might have said or done that may have caused some inadvertent offense.

But he hasn't even _seen_ Lizzie all day.

He hasn't _had_ any chance to cause any inadvertent offense.

Has he?

"Liz - "

"Congratulations." She holds her purse in front of her, both hands on the handle. It feels almost like an artificial barrier. "I heard about the promotion."

"Oh, I was hoping - to tell you myself." For the first time all day, Darcy feels slightly abashed. He smiles. "I see good news travels fast."

"It does." Her words are soft and indistinct. They feel like fairy dust - insubstantial and fleeting.

She's not her animated self.

Has he tired her too much over the holidays? Maybe he should have insisted that she return to work later. The charity circuit can be exhausting under all the press and glamor.

"Should we head to The Mode?" He is a little anxious to leave the very public lobby. They are official, but he's never been one to publicly live out his private life. "I don't have a reservation, but it shouldn't be too busy in the evenings, what with it being a business district and all. Or perhaps you prefer to take food home - to your place? Or mine?"

He wants her to get some rest, wants her to unwind beside him while he tells her all about the way the board surprised even him with their sudden announcement this morning.

"It's okay - don't bother." She sounds resigned, even a little upset.

"Lizzie, is everything alright?"

"You don't have to let me down easy." She meets his eye briefly before turning to the side. Her arms are still in front of her. Her body language warns him to keep some distance. "We can just end it, right here, right now."

There is no context to her words. There is no sense.

"What do you mean?"

"You got your promotion, and I've placated my family. I say we've done a pretty impressive job at the whole thing." She shrugs, still looking away. "I guess we both got what we wanted, huh?"

And when she looks up at him again, her eyes are dead - dead cold.

"I - " He has no words - not a single one. "Lizzie, I - "

"It's okay." She reaches a hand out to pat him on the arm. It's brief, and rigid. "Thanks for all your help. I couldn't have asked for a better fake boyfriend."

"We are - breaking up?" The words feel foreign on his tongue. He's never had a break-up before. He's never truly been in any relationship before - before her.

"Why drag it out, right?" She laughs. Her laughter sounds hollow, and cold. "You're a free man, William Darcy. Thanks for all the help - _really._ "

He watches helplessly as she turns away.

"Oh, and congratulations again."

Darcy blinks. His chest feels tight, and his head feels heavy. His surroundings fade into grey.

"Thank you," he replies on auto-pilot, but she's already out the door.

* * *

"I need the Rotham files _now_!" Mr. Darcy yells into the receiver.

Charlotte pauses to collect herself.

"They were sent out this morning, sir."

"And Merisco?"

"Yesterday."

Her boss grumbles loudly. Figuring that things can't really get any worse, Charlotte takes the effort to enter his office.

"Mr. Darcy?"

"I wanted the Lestrade proposal _yesterday!_ " He thunders, unprompted.

"You signed them this morning, sir."

"Financial is late _again_ , and we need the figures for budgeting."

"I've followed up. They'll submit within the day."

"What's on tomorrow morning?"

"The press conference, sir." Charlotte stands up straighter. "Regarding your recent change in status."

"Well, dammit!"

"Sir - "

"I've been back an _entire week_ , and they choose the _one morning_ that - "

"Sir!"

"If PR doesn't know what they're doing, they have no business - "

"Sir!" She shouts loud enough to stop him. He's breathing hard, fire in his eyes.

Charlotte tilts up her chin. "Is it Lizzie, sir?"

He looks at her, a crouching tiger.

Then, the crouching tiger growls. "Women who don't want to fall in love have no business making others fall in love with them."

Charlotte waits for his own words to hit him.

"Then tell her."

"Tell her?"

"Tell her how you feel." Charlotte crosses her arms. "I think she's looked like hell the past week. The break-up's been hard on her."

"The _fake_ break-up," he spits.

"Or, judging from both your reactions, the _real_ break-up - from a _real_ relationship."

He continues to glare at her, but now with a hint of uncertainty.

"Just my two cents." Charlotte shrugs, deposits the stack of folders on his desk, and walks out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charlotte isn't having it! I somehow missed a week with my updates (the new year threw me off), so I will be posting Chapters 9-10 very soon so we can get back to the angstfest that is The Child. Hang in there!


	9. The Declaration

Frankly, she's a little ashamed of herself.

When she twirled away from her ex-boyfriend and walked out the giant lobby glass doors last week, she knew she would be sad. She _had_ been attached, after all. There's going to be an inevitable season of mourning. There's going to be ice cream and stress and maybe a night or two of crying herself to sleep. There may even be a pleasant dream of him that she won't want to wake up from.

But she's done all that, and she's checked off every single item on the list of things she knows she may possibly want or need to do before she can finally move on from her false yet oh-so-real relationship.

And yet, here she is, alone on her sofa with puffy eyes and a huge clump of tangled hair under her fingers as the credits roll on her laptop screen. It's funny how even the funniest movies become tear-jerkers when you're break-up fresh.

And it's not okay.

It's not okay to be this wrecked by a break-up _she_ initiated. It's not okay to behave just like every fictional helpless heroine she's criticized over the years.

She _will_ function without a man, and she _will_ be her own person even after she's basically been forced to carve out a piece of her heart and trample it on the ground.

Shakespeare may never have meant it in a romantic way, but this whole ordeal really has cost her a pound of flesh.

Her doorbell rings.

And she just knows it's probably some kind of food delivery that she's ordered in a trance and forgotten about right after. She's lucky she earns a good paycheck. Not everyone has the luxury of spending this much on stress eating.

Judging from the beautiful collection of coats she's stuffed into her closet over the last few days, retail therapy is a thing too.

The doorbell rings again.

"Coming!" Lizzie sniffs away a threatening runny nose. She pulls the blanket off of her bare legs, grabs the wallet beside her laptop, and shuffles towards the door in her Hello Kitty night shirt. She may be a mess, but she's pretty sure most delivery folks have seen a lot worse than -

"Lizzie."

Her jaw drops.

And she regrets every single grooming decision she's made in the last six hours.

She's been to the office, in nice if wrinkled clothes, and combed hair and decent make-up. She's even worn heels just this morning.

But, of course, he had to come see her when she looks like _this_.

"Will."

He nods. He doesn't look great - well, not _that_ great. The stubble on his jaw looks a day or two past due. His collar lies unevenly on his shoulders. His eyes, despite the dark circles, look mesmerizingly at her.

"May I come in?"

She hesitates. She hesitates, because she's not sure if she wants to say yes, not sure if she wants to give that pound of flesh any chance to shimmy its way back into her life. She hesitates, because she's not really sure what's happening is happening.

"Liz - "

"Of course." She steps to the side. He nods and wanders in. She bites her lip while shutting the door behind them.

"Have you had dinner?" He asks, turning.

"I - " She frankly doesn't even know. "I'm not hungry."

"I see."

"Yeah."

They stand silently, facing yet not facing each other. She looks up whenever he looks up. Then someone always breaks eye contact to stare at the floor, or the wall, or _anything_ before it starts all over again.

"Why are you here?" She blurts, when it's taken far too long for her to care anymore.

He sighs. He's obviously nervous. It's the same look he had on his face before his speech, the same look he had when she's first met Georgiana. It's beyond clear to her that his showing up here is a result of some kind of extensive deliberation. It's just not very clear what conclusion his deliberating has led him to.

"I know it's not an airport," he says.

She's instantly confused.

"And I know I've driven over instead of breaking into a run," he adds. She listens quietly. "I don't have a big speech prepared, or some sort of grand gesture. I know I've done every single rom-com trope wrong - as Ms. Collins has magnanimously informed me. I haven't stopped traffic or put myself in danger. I don't have some kind of trinket or token to show you to remind you of our time together. I don't have _anything_ , really."

She blinks. "Alright."

"I - I'm not a romantic guy, Lizzie, and I frankly don't know what I'm supposed to be doing half the time." He steps a little closer. "But I know that I'm in love with you. And I know that this past week has been _utterly miserable_ without you. I know I want to eat all my lunches and my dinners with you. I know I want to have you next to me to squeeze my fingers when I get nervous right before a speech, or when I need help with a prying aunt or a swooning sister. I - I love you, and I want to do everything I can to be for you what you've been for me since Ms. Collins set us up last year."

Lizzie gulps. She's trying not to cry.

She's failing.

"I loved being around your family. I loved talking about my day with you. I loved buying takeout and eating on the couch as we talk about everything and nothing. And I guess it's just taken me the long way round to realize that I loved all of those things because I'm actually in love with _you_."

She holds her breath as he strays even closer.

"And I guess what I want to know - what I came over to ask - is if it's okay - for you to be in love with me too?"

It's not eloquent, and it's not grand. It's not even properly phrased as sentences go.

But for some reason, the clunkiness of his confession and the simplicity of his stuttering sincerity are far more potent than the most gratifying rom-com grand gestures on screen.

Slowly, she slides her hands on his shoulders, and she whispers as gently as she can, "I suppose it's okay - given that I already am."

It takes a second, but his face breaks into the most handsome grin on the planet when her words finally sink in. She smiles too. And when he kisses her hard, on the lips, with wandering hands and teasing lips and bodies bending to accommodate each other, she figures a Hello Kitty nightshirt can be as good as a dress.

* * *

The telltale sounds of fumbling bags and jingling keys are what wake him the next morning.

He winces a little when the light from the window hits his eyes at an awkward angle. Sprawled on the couch, with Lizzie's dead weight draped all over his chest, isn't the most orthopedically efficient way to fall asleep in.

But, hey, he's not complaining.

More huffing and grumbling echo through Lizzie's closed front door.

Darcy blinks. Who exactly would be visiting his girlfriend - at least, he _thinks_ she's his girlfriend now - this early in the morning?

Given the way that Lizzie is practically snoring over his mostly-unbuttoned shirt, it doesn't seem like he'll get any answers from her anytime soon. He can't deny, after all, that they _did_ sleep pretty late last night. And even when they did, things had unfolded in a less-than-deliberate sort of way.

Darcy shifts slightly, just to keep his eyes away from the assault of direct eyesight.

"Lizzie!" The scratching outside stops just before the loud, female voice starts barking. "Did you change your locks again?"

Now, Darcy is _mostly_ sure who's standing outside.

"Lizzie?" He nudges her by the hair, his free hand on her back. He kisses her forehead. She just snuggles closer. He smiles. "Lizzie, I think your moth - "

"There!" Mrs. Bennet bursts into the apartment, eyes roaming all over the mess of plates, utensils, and strewn outerwear. "What is - "

Her eyes land on Darcy for one whole second before the screaming starts.

"Lizzie! A man! Are you _serious!"_

Darcy takes the punch in the gut helplessly as Lizzie, freshly awoken, elbows him in the ribs to pull herself up.

"What is - "

"Have we taught you _nothing_ , child! You _said_ you would be good in the city, and we _believed_ that you would - "

"Mom? What are you even - "

"And to find you on the couch with a _boy_!"

"Mom, you know Will! And it's not what you think - "

"His tie on the ground and your shoes all over?" Mrs. Bennet plants her fists on her hips. "Do you think I'm blind, child?"

"No," Lizzie huffs. Even red in the face, she's gorgeous. "Mom, look, I don't even know why you think it's remotely alright to come here unannounced."

"Well, I am _glad_ I did! Oh, what would Pastor Ron say!"

"I don't care what he says, Mom, because _nothing happened_!"

"How can you - how can we - "

"Mrs. Bennet," Darcy tries to intervene. Lizzie looks helplessly at him. He takes her hand. "Mrs. Bennet, I hope you understand that I only have the best intentions in - "

" _You_!" Her mother screeches, eyes zooming in on Darcy again. Both he and Lizzie stare hollowly back. "You have _better_ marry her now, young man."

Of all the things that Mrs. Bennet could sputter - she goes for the least expected.

And Darcy, with a glance at a blushing and chuckling Lizzie, looks back at the outraged woman with a smile of his own.

And he replies, with every sincerity, "Maybe I will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked the resolution! I couldn't resist throwing in a screeching Mrs. Bennet. I don't know why. Just one short and fluffy epilogue to go :)


	10. The Wedding

"You look stunning, Lizzie."

"Congratulations!"

"Mr. and Mrs. Darcy!"

"To a wonderful future!"

Hundreds of greetings swirl all around them, first in the grandiose reception at the Darcy estate, then in the cozy gathering in Lizzie's hometown. Her mother won't stop crying, her father won't stop smiling, and even Lydia, perhaps thanks to Lizzie's kindness over bridal party wear, acts relatively tame the entire time.

"Mrs. Darcy," William likes to whisper in Lizzie's ear, every other half hour, with his arm around her waist and his lips against her cheek. She shivers, every time, because there's nothing more thrilling than sharing a secret in the midst of a boisterous, crowded church hall.

"I _said_ he had to marry her, of course. I _knew_ it all along!" Her mother won't stop announcing.

With this being the last wedding in the family for a very long while, Lizzie lets her have it.

"Lizzie! The community is _so_ delightful. No wonder Will loves it so much here!" Georgiana runs up to them when the guests start to leave, sparkling in her pink bridesmaid dress. Lizzie has noticed, quite quickly, the many young gentlemen who have been hovering around her new sister-in-law all day. She just figures she'll tell her husband later.

It's not quite time to burst the bubble yet.

Georgiana chats happily with the couple of the hour, and Lizzie tells her, quite sincerely, that she is glad she's enjoying herself.

The matron of honor walks up to them just as Georgiana finally traipses away.

"Should I set her up too?"

"Charlotte!"

"I would warn against that, Ms. Collins." William smiles. Lizzie leans happily against his chest. "Our family's coffers can only fund so many weddings each year."

"Whoever said they'll end up married?" Charlotte shrugs. "It's just for convenience - an arrangement, if you may."

"You're into matchmaking now, Char?" Lizzie teases. Her grin widens when William plants a smooch on her cheek.

Who knew the reserved William Darcy could be this open to PDA?

"I figured I could moonlight." Charlotte smiles. "Seems like a waste of talent if I don't. I do seem remarkably good at it, don't I?"

And the bride and groom cannot help but agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the story! We will be back to Regency strife with "The Child" very soon. In other news, I have tried to set up a Facebook page for my publications, especially since I am toying with the idea of writing an original series some time. I don't know if doing a page is helpful or not. Are there lots of JAFF fans on Facebook? If yes, I haven't found them. Lol.
> 
> Hope you had a merry Christmas and a happy new year despite it all!


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